


From Hell

by findtheword



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-08-13
Updated: 2013-08-17
Packaged: 2017-12-23 10:14:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 722
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/925165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/findtheword/pseuds/findtheword
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Never mind the whole of time and space. When things go wrong on your own doorstep - that's when hell really hath called.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

"So I can’t do tomorrow – I promised Angie a girl’s night seen as her brother’s at a party – but beyond that-"

"Clara," an exasperated Doctor interrupted, leaning an arm over the guard rail in the Console Room. "Is it going to do any good for me to say yet again: _time_ machine."

"Rude," she responded with a grin, before looking down at the shiny crystal in her hand – a souvenir from their latest adventure. When she looked up at him again there was a solemn look in her big brown eyes, more serious than the Doctor had been expecting. "I’ve been with you long enough to know how this works. You need someone to keep you grounded. So, when I say the next I can do is Wednesday, I _mean_ Wednesday."

"Right right, whatever you say," he grumpily conceded. Sort of – he knew exactly what he was going to do the moment she left the TARDIS. Or at least he thought he did.

Clara smiled at him, unconsciously reached for his hand to give it a brief squeeze, then turned to wander out of the TARDIS and back into her home life. She’d be lying if she said it wasn’t hard to leave the Doctor even for a couple of brief days, but she also understood how their relationship worked. Or at least she thought she did. And if there was anything she didn’t want to jeopardise – even beyond all of time and space – it was that.

Pausing as she heard the tell-tale TARDIS siren sounds signify its departure, she smiled at herself and mentally began the countdown until she would hear them again. Then, and only then, did she push the front door open, frowning as it gave without even a turn of the key.

It was then that she entered hell. Alone.


	2. Tuesdays

Tuesday was a long day – Tuesdays were always long days. But this Tuesday was nightmarishly long. And what made it the worst Tuesday of time for the Doctor was the fact that Tuesday didn’t really exist. Not in the grand scheme of timey-wimey things. And yet, because one petite girl with outrageously large eyes had requested it of him, there he was, pretending it existed – and she wasn’t even there to share his pain. In all seriousness, it was worse than the time he was a monk. At least then he was a renegade monk that painted masterpieces of – lo and behold – a woman. But there was nothing renegade or even vaguely interesting about a Tuesday, spent alone, watching the TARDIS clock as she counted through Earth time.

However, the time did eventually come, and the Doctor approached the Console with a superior swagger. Yes, he had done it – defeated time itself. Wednesday was here and he could walk into that little Lancashire house and boast about his triumph. He flipped a lever on the Console, wound up a generator and leaned against the panel as he waited for the TARDIS to materialise in a discreet location near Clara’s street.

He stepped out, best booted foot forward, and made short work of the walk to the house, expecting there to be the usual buzz of activity around the place. The kids’ father was rarely home, but between Clara and the two children there was usually a fun kind of frenetic energy around the place. It was good; it was fun. But the complete lack of that – the complete lack of any sensation – as he approached the front door made him slow to a suspicious stop. With one hand on the front door, he narrowed his eyes and looked first left and then right, up the street. There was nothing; not even the wind blew.

“Clara?” he called, frowning as he pushed the door open. He stepped, uncharacteristically gingerly, through the threshold. There was something very wrong. And the moment that thought resonated the door snapped shut behind him.

“Self-closing doors,” he muttered to himself. “Never a good sign.” Oh well, he wasn’t looking to leave just yet, anyway. Not without the precious girl that he had come to pick up and whisk away on another high-octane adventure. What was she doing getting herself into an unholy mess without him anyway? He raised his voice once more as he poked his head into the kitchen. “Clara? Where are you?”


End file.
